The hills are coated in message boards
& chatroom callers; dirty with arms
& poems about shoulders.
My lesson was learned so completely
at the hands of a girl; she taught me
driveway-love—where the kisses & palms go
—where tongues & fingers go.
We shed our skins, sipped from flasks,
& nursed it; but all was not forgiven, not when
nothing came of all our liquid-quick.
“O how I wish I could taste a mere second
of your hours,” He said. “We seek young love.”
As the bride showers our bleachers
—insipid as the flowers.
We can spread ourselves
& make love
on the arrases.
“O how I covet—O how I gnash my teeth—
while you wait before this precious ride of shivers
—& I’ll lay you forever at rest, here inside me.”
He said, at great length. With even greater tremors.